Magi: Realm of Magic
by Bittersweet Alchemist
Summary: Malik wasn't aiming to be king, but beggars can't be choosers, and as a Rotter he's always been a beggar. With his faithful friends by his side, can Malik avert the oncoming tragedies of the world, or will his young nation crumble? (Rated M for Rotters)
1. Night 00

**A/N: Yes, I know I should be working on my other things! Bite me!**

 **This is an idea I've toyed with for a while now, and with blocks/hiatuses on all my other stories, I took advantage of having this idea...**

 **So there, myeh!**

 **Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!**

 **OOOOooooOOOOooooOOOO**

 **{Night 00}**

Kadar seemed oblivious to the screaming, swearing and arguing inside the hut behind him, puffing idly on his pipe. He'd been told to wait outside every time he'd tried going in, and last time had gotten a cup of water splashed in his face.

Kadar's child was being born, and the healer and his wife had both kicked him out of the house.

With a bit of a ' _harrumph_ ,' the man tilted his head back to look at the sky, the sun falling to the horizon. This and the country's dusty, polluted air made the sky murky.

The country was small, a peninsula that was little more than a giant trash-heap with only four villages, nameless. The people who'd evolved and adapted to the country had a name— Rotters. Their skin ranged from fair to dark tan, their hair starting as a light color at the roots before fading into something darker at the tips. They had lithe, slender bodies and wiry muscles. Their legs were strong, as were their immune systems. They didn't need as much food or water to survive as other people, and were accustomed to the heat. Their long, thick eyelashes kept dust and debris from their eyes, and their senses of both smell and hearing were heightened compared to the normal human, but not completely on-par with the legendary Fanalis.

There were only four Rotter villages, and each was acquainted with the others. They were all very casual, language that would make a sailor blush considered normal. No one bore bodily shame, so skimpy clothing was also common. Violence, rough-and-tumble, and fights were something that were more friendly and playful, born from boredom, than genuine anger, the Rotters believing it bad to hold anger in. Honesty was a big virtue. Drinking and smoking were another common thing, and sex was considered a fact of life, like eating and sleeping. Very few Rotters above the age of sixteen were virgins, and many had multiple partners of both sexes even after marriage. Children learned about sex at an early age, and were encouraged to watch once or twice so they would understand the mechanics of it better— Though less common than the other behaviors of the Rotters, some were so shameless enough as to do it in the streets where everyone could see their kinks. Gay sex, group, flings, as long as it was consensual, not incest, and both parties were above sixteen years old it was good.

Kadar blew out another smoke ring as Zahara's screams faded into moans and softer swearing. That meant they were close, right? He didn't know, but Master Alban, the life-magician who served as this village's healer, was there for a reason.

"Boy! Get your sorry ass in here!"

Groaning, Kadar knocked out the flame in his pipe and stood up to go inside.

"Well, the sorry sonovabitch took his sweet time in pushing out, but now the little bugger's all popped out..." the older man huffed, wiping his brow.

Kadar's gaze traveled to his wife lying on the floor. Cradled to her chest in her arms was the still-bloody baby, suckling happily on her teat.

Smiling softly, he sat down next to his young family. "Alright, quack, scram, 'fore I kick that smarmy ass of yours into Reim, huh?" Kadar smirked, flicking his wrist at the magician. He was rewarded with a thump on the head from the staff the other man carried everywhere. " _Sonovabitch_ , I'm gonna _kill_ that mother-fucking bastard and send him _so far_ to hell he comes out the other end...!"

"Oh, shush and meet your son. Look at his eyes. Have you ever seen a baby with eyes other than blue?"

Blinking in confusion, Kadar looked at the slimy baby. Zahara gently stopped the baby from feeding and held him up. The grumpy little gaze boring into Kadar's amber wasn't too far from blue, a brilliant shade of aquamarine that was just a tad heavier on the green than blue, giving them the look of crushed gemstones. But there was a startling intelligence in those eyes, determined to make sure everyone knew that he was a one-of-the-kind special baby.

Kadar smiled, reaching out to poke his son's squishy-soft cheek with a clawed fingertip.

It wasn't actually a claw, it was a silver ring that encased his entire finger, stylized to look like a dragon's claw. He'd found it, and, following the Rotter policy of 'if it's in the gutter-trash and no one's touching, go for it,' had claimed it as his own. Kadar didn't have any particular attachment to the ring, he just thought it looked cool.

And as the claw glinted in the light of the fire in the hut, it became apparent his son did too, grabbing it in a pudgy hand and gurgling.

Zahara laughed, a light, musical sound. "Well? What should we call him?"

Kadar paused in the process of wrestling with his son to reclaim his finger. Once again, his golden eyes met the aquamarine of the baby. He could see pride and determination there, as well as wit and intelligence.

"Malik." he said firmly.

"Oh? So insistent?"

Nodding, Kadar eased his son away from his wife. Standing up, he held the baby over his head. "I haven't a doubt in my mind that this kid is gonna grow up to become someone's king, even if it's only an affectionate title, and will be one of the greatest in history."

The next second, he was handing the newly-named Malik back to Zahara, spitting and wiping at his mouth and face.

"We know he either loves you or hates you!" Zahara laughed, cleaning up the residue spit-up on Malik's mouth and chin.


	2. Night 01: His Name Is Malik

**{Night 01: His Name Is Malik}**

I sighed, blinking up at the dusty sky.

My name is Malik. I'm thirteen years old, and live with my mother in one of the four Rotter villages. My father died when I was just a baby, from a poisoned dart. Since we had no idea what type of poison it was, we were unable to cure him, and he passed away. All that I have left of him is a full-finger silver ring that's too big for me. I keep it in my pocket until I'm ready to try it on.

My mother, Zahara, is considered one of the most beautiful women in our nameless shithole of a country. Kadar, my father, was the closest thing we had to a leader. There aren't many kids my age in my village, and I'm still so small that I'd have to run all day in order to make it to one of the others. My friends are Zaria and Hassan, magician-kids training under Master Alban, the healer and magician who served as midwife at my birth. They were at training right now, and I'd helped my mom with all the mandatory chores. So I was just sitting around being bored.

I scowled a bit, thinking of how easy other countries must've had it. Their only threats were probably war, from places like Partevia and Reim... but the Rotter-turf was totally ignored, both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because no one wants to take us.

A curse because no one cared if we were taken as slaves.

It was my father who scared bandits, pirates and slavers away. He was our strongest warrior and greatest fighter, the smartest, strongest, fastest and best-trained. But some cheap-shot got a dart into his side while he was defending our border— yes, singular— from bandits. It was obviously drugged somehow, and in the end turned out to be coated in venom alien to us. He lived for a week, struggling to beat the poison, but eventually died. I was only two when that happened.

I sighed again, swinging my arms to heave myself up.

I'd left the boundaries of my village and was at the scummy beach. Our land is pretty much barren, and our beaches covered in trash and sludge. Our animals are almost nonexistent thanks to what a dump this place is.

Not really left with anything else to do, I shimmied out of my pants and walked into the rather yucky salt-water. If I was to swim out far enough, it cleared up a fair bit, but I started to worry about drifting away. I wasn't scared of being washed away, but it'd be a pain in the ass to get back home if I was. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes to a squint and dove underwater.

I'm told that I swim like a dolphin, moving my entire body up and down in a rippling wave rather than stroking the way most people do. I suppose that's flattering. I'm not sure, since I've only seen dolphins once.

Reaching water that wasn't quite clear but was definitely cleaner than closer to the shore, I dove to the bottom.

I ran out of air the second I hit the gunk and trash-filled sand, and was forced to kick off and shoot to the surface. I burst through the water, almost totally leaping out, with a loud gasp. I treaded the water for a minute, inhaling and exhaling. Once I was sure my lungs had relaxed somewhat— they become tense and weary after deep-breath-diving— I gulped down another deep breath and went bottoms-up. Letting out the tiniest stream of bubbles from my mouth, I began to sift about the stuff in the gross sand. A crab I disturbed snapped his pincers at me, and I decided to scoop him up. Shooting back up to the surface, I held him over my head.

"Now _look here_ , mister. If I'd been cranky, I would've just called you lunch and made a fire for it _right here and now_." I scolded. The crab snapped more at me despite the fact that I was holding him so he couldn't get me. Just because I was the tiniest bit grumpy at the moment, I gave him a slight shake and dove back down to put him back where I found him. Bobbing about three feet over to the left, I found a half-open box. Reaching in, I winced as something cut my finger.

Carefully, I wrapped my hand around the object and pulled it out. It was a knife, covered in crud and algae and sand.

Deciding that was a find enough for me, I returned to both the surface and the shore. It took me a moment to find my pants, and I double-checked to make sure my father's ring was still in my pocket before putting them on. The knife I'd found in my hand, I started back in the direction of home as I examined it. I couldn't make too many details out covered in crud the way it was, but it was about seven inches long, not including the handle. It didn't really have a crosspiece or anything to separate the blade from the hilt, just a little ridge where they'd been fused together. It felt like the handle was engraved with something, but it could've just been the layers of shit coating it.

I gave a small huff.

Other countries just treated us like trash. They shouldn't be able to do that. We were _better_ than this knife and all the other shit everyone dumped here. We weren't their personal junkyard.

I wanted to change that, make everyone around us see just what Rotters _were._

I huffed again, irritated.


	3. Night 02: Zaria and Hassan

**{Night 02: Zaria and Hassan}**

"Malik! Mal! Hey Mal!"

"Malik, wait up!"

I stopped, turning around to wait for my friends.

We look really different, and our personalities clash a lot too. Some of the adults say we exemplify Rotters in all their glory, each of their three sides.

My skin is fair, my eyes aquamarine leaning towards green, and my hair falls to my shoulders, starting off light blonde at the roots before fading into yellow-orange and then red-orange. I only really wear baggy black pants held up with a rope and wooden sandals. I'm not exactly laid-back, energetic and often rushing into things headfirst. I'm rather volatile, my emotions changing quickly and easily, but always revolving around some sort of goal or base thought. I'm told that I'm really smart, especially for my age.

Hassan is two years older than me at fifteen. His skin is light brown, his eyes golden. His hair is cut into a sleek bob that always falls in his eyes, starting a little lighter than his eyes and then fading into a rich brown. While I'm fairly average height for my age, he's already pretty tall, even if he is older than me, with a lot more slender of a build. He wears a loose sandy-brown tank-top and brown canvas pants under a way-too-big leather vest with brass buttons. He wears soft hide boots held shut with twine, and a string of dark wooden beads around his neck. Since he's training as a magician, he carries around a metal rod to serve as his wand until he finds something better. He's a more cautious guy, somewhat timid and laid-back. While energetic, he's better at channeling it than I am, directing himself towards work and his studies while I just run off to play and sulk about not having anything to do.

Then there's Zaria. She's the same age as me, two months younger, and is only two inches shorter than me. Her skin is peaches and cream, her eyes a vivid, captivating purple with navy blue rims around her irises. Her hair starts out a peach-color and fades into hot pink. It falls to her hips in feathery layers, and she keeps a small pony of the side of her head. She only wears linen wrapped around her chest and a pair of black shorts so small they might as well just be undergarments, and prefers to go barefoot. On each ankle, she has a slight silver chain with bells, so she jingles as she walks. Like Hassan, she carries around a stick until she can find a better wand to use. She's even more rash than I am, often bolting off before you can finish talking, and tends to get hurt a fair bit. That's why her knees and elbows are constantly scuffed up and at least one bandage on her face. Her sadistic edge makes her kinda scary, but she's genuinely sweet under the sadism, almost motherly. She's also a slight bit of a bubble-brain, and has a slight speech impediment that can easily be mistaken for a Rotter-accent since plenty of us use slang like her.

Really, we aren't at all alike. It's kind of amazing we get along so well, but it's Rotter-nature to be amiable towards everyone until it is made clear that they're an enemy. So I guess it isn't _too_ surprising.

"Mal, y'know that thing in Partevia? The dungeon?" Hassan huffed as they finally caught up to me.

"What about it?" I asked, examining the knife I'd found in the sea. Now that is was cleaned off better, it was really simple, black ebony with a single cracked red gemstone inlaid in the pommel of the hilt. There was a little silver decoration on the hilt, but it was tarnished and a little damaged.

"Apparently some lucky sonovabitch only a bit older t'an us went an' came out alive! People say that th' guy has a sword of lightning, wi' a monster at his beck and call, an' came outta the hole wi' mountains of booty!" Zaria declared enthusiastically. "Th't must be _so fuckin' cool!_ Yeah?"

"I can't say I'm particularly interested in the treasure, but the monster and sword of lightning sure sound awesome. I don't want or need treasure." I replied, giving the knife an experimental twirl. " _Ow!_ "

"Eh?! Ye should be more careful!" Zaria told me as I leant down the pick up the knife, pretty much ignoring the shallow gash down my stomach. "'Ere! 'Old still!"

Gripping her stick with both hands, Zaria took a deep breath and uttered a command. My bleeding slowed and the pain in my muscles faded.

Zaria is a life-specialized magician, so she's good at working with plants, and the healing-magic derivative is one of her favorite magics. Hassan is a light-type magician, but apparently that means he's also good with strength-magic. He prefers the light, though.

"Thanks, Zaria." I smiled, thwapping her left shoulder lightly with the back of my hand. That was a typical Rotter gesture of gratitude, just like how touching two fingers to the right temple before flicking them away was our greeting. "Anyway, I've been thinking—"

"Ooh! Dangerous!"

Hassan rolled his eyes at Zaria.

"Well, y'know that old tree-stump near the border? It's _huge_ , right? I wanna see trees like that grow here again. With a sword of lightning and a monster, I could fix this place up no time flat!"

"That's an awesome idea, but... well, dungeons are starting to pop up everywhere, yeah, but none even relatively close to us. To get something like a lightning-sword an' a monster, we'd have to leave Rotter-turf and run our asses off across the world looking for one. An' even then, we're just three kids, four if you include Chaya from the other village, and no one listens to kids, especially kid-Rots." Hassan mumbled, fiddling with his metal rod.

"Then we'll have to grow up _real_ fast and find one before they're all claimed."

Zaria clapped her hands, nodding enthusiastically.

A lot slower, Hassan nodded in agreement.

Nodding in approval, I tucked the knife into my waistband, jammed my hands in my pockets, and asked, "So whaddya guys wanna do? I just got back from the beach 'bout an hour ago..."

"Lessgo t' th' depression!" Zaria squealed, clapping her hands. Before either Hassan or I could offer our opinions, she'd already charged off.

"Well, the depression it is..."

The depression was this huge spot in the middle of Rotter-turf that was thought to have once been a water-hole. It was a large flat area about six feet below the surface of the surrounding land, and there were lots of plant-skeletons around it. The depression was actually great for playing in, and there were some great finds there, too.

By the time Hassan and I had reached the depression, Zaria was already making a fort out of debris so we could play sludge-ball. It was a game _all_ Rotters knew and loved playing, where a fort is created by each player or team, and then balls of mud and sludge are hurled back and forth. The depression is always spongy and muddy, even during droughts, so it's one of the best places for sludge-ball.

The rules of sludge-ball are simple. Once you build a fortress, you cannot go farther than three feet from it. You can use your fortress to protect yourself or provide better sludge-throwing grounds. These forts can't be within twenty feet of each other. Once everyone has built their fortress, you throw sludge-balls at each other until someone cries uncle. The last one standing is the victor.

I quickly staked out a spot near the wall of the depression, about twenty-one feet away from Zaria's fort. Hassan chose one closer to the center of the depression, which was close to twenty-nine feet away from me. Dammit, that was far... could my sludge-balls make it past Zaria and to him...?

Gritting my teeth, I set about building my fort. I always went with a simple design, pretty much just walls for me to duck behind, with sort of notches in the top for me to throw sludge from. It always worked out in the past, I saw no reason for it not to this time around.

Once we'd all finished with our forts, I automatically ducked down behind the wall of my shelter. While Zaria and Hassan went at each other, I got on my knees in the muck and started making an ammo-stock, rolling up sludge-ball after sludge-ball. That was my usual strategy, to allow my opponents to wear themselves down while I prepared myself against them. And it usually worked. I was by no means sludge-ball master-champion, but I was a nasty opponent, according to everyone who played me.

A heap of sludge-balls made, I peeked out through a crack in my wall at the fight. It looked like Zaria was whupping Hassan's sorry ass. So I decided to focus on helping her take Hassan down, and once he surrendered, I should be able to easily take her down...

I waited for them to both duck down and retrieve another sludge-ball to come up myself, aiming carefully for Hassan's fort. Once he popped up, I hurled my sludge-ball as hard as I could at him.

" _Ackthpft!_ M- _Magl!_ " he yelled at me as I nailed him full on in the face, filling his mouth with sludge. Zaria howled with laughter, and just for the heck of it I splatted her back with another sludge-ball.

"Don't turn your back on me, your greatest enemy! I will vanquish _all_ who challenge me!" I roared before ducking back down to dodge their sludge-balls. Hassan's fell short, audibly exploding on the ground somewhere outside my fort. Zaria's grazed the top of my wall, spraying gook all over my back, but didn't actually hit me. Grabbing another sludge-ball, I stood up again and hurled it hard in Hassan's direction with a wild yell. As I flattened myself to the mud to avoid Zaria, I heard him yelp, but not in the way that said I had hit him. I grinned, gathering up two more of my ammo-pile's stock.


	4. Night 03: Mother

**{Night 03: Mother}**

"So who won?"

"I _think_ I did. Master Alban came and took Zaria and Hassan away before we could actually decide anything." I replied as my mom grabbed the water-skin.

Rotters don't question when their roommates come home covered in mud and crap. Partially because we as a people _aren't_ the cleanest, and partially because we all play sludge-ball, and that's a messy game. So when I pushed open the curtain that serves as our hut-door covered in sludge, my mother simply wanted to know how the game went.

Zahara, my mom, is considered one of our most beautiful. She's finely proportioned, with a lithe hourglass-shape and slight muscle-tone on tanned skin. Her eyes are a bloody maroon sort of color, her hair falling to her waist in a neat braid. Her hair is deep red, fading into black at the tips. Her bangs frame her face in a way that draws attention to her. She has two beauty-marks under her right eye, as if she's perpetually crying. On her left-side collarbone is a tattoo of a rose done in black, standing out against her skin. There's a whitish scar on her throat. She wears a red halter-top with black accents and harem-pants with long slits up the side to reveal her legs, and the fabric rides low on her hips. Like me, she wears simple wooden sandals, but while mine have rope for the straps, hers have black braided stuff. On her wrists is a collection of copper bangles that my dad found near the border. She's a little taller than average height for a Rotter-woman, though it's widely agreed that a lot of her height is in her legs.

I'm told I don't really look like either of them, since my dad was one of the only pale-skinned Rotters, with amber eyes and harvest-gold hair that turned dark brown. It's hard to get light blonde that goes orangey from red and brownish. At the same time, I'm told I take after my father.

Since I didn't really get the chance to actually meet him, I wouldn't know.

"Come on. We need more water in the skin and you're a mess."

I nodded, following her back out of the hut and trailing after her as she headed for our village's well.

Wells and rainwater were the cleanest water we could get around here. The well-water was an underground spring filtered naturally by the rocky tunnels, uncontaminated by the trashy surface, and only two of the four Rotter villages had them, ours being one of them. Most Rotter-homes have water-skins in their huts, which they fill up at wells. When it rains, clean hides are hung up outside to catch the fresh, clean water as it falls.

As my mother and I walked, I tucked my hands behind my head. Since I was dirty even by Rotter standards, I was gonna be splashed with water three or four times, so I was gonna be freezing my ass off for an hour or two. I stuck my lip out in a bit of a pout. I had no problems with either wet or cold, but unless _I_ was the one initiating them I was wholeheartedly against _either_ touching me.

"Was Chaya there?"

" _Nope_." I huffed.

"Did you and Chaya fight?"

"Hassan's plannin' t' ask her out."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of _Chaya?!_ No way!" I snapped.

Chaya was a fifteen-year-old from one of the other villages. I suppose she qualifies as one of our friends, but I think she's too much of a straight in my personal opinion. She has skin a little lighter than Hassan's, the same height as me, and a figure ready to develop into one like my mother's. Her cheeks are always rosy, her eyelashes thick even for a Rot. Her eyes are lime-green with true-blue spokes, her hair light green fading into navy blue. It falls halfway down her back, and she wears it in a high, tight pony held in place with a pretty golden piece she found in the sea. She wears a pale yellow tube-top and harem-pants, with a bright green leafy-like scarf around her waist. Around her neck is always a bright brass collar with a cracked emerald centerpiece over her throat. She wears faded blue slipper-like shoes. She's really sweet and playful in a childish manner, but is way too shy and well-behaved for a Rotter. Hassan's been making eyes at her ever since they first met. I don't like her, but I don't _hate_ her.

"I think you are, aren't you? Not that they're becoming close and you feel they'll take each other away, but that they're going into a relationship and you haven't found anyone you want to be your first yet."

"H- _huh?!_ " _How'd she know that?!_

"You act tough and like you don't care, but you're actually quite a romantic yourself, aren't you?" my mother smiled, reaching out to ruffle my muddy hair. I could feel clumps of it sticking up in weird spikes, cemented there thanks to the sludge. Unable to respond properly, I huffed, turning my head away from her with an indignant look.

Seriously, _how_ had she _known?_ I don't act lovesick or overly jealous. I don't really stare longingly at couples with babies or whatnot. But it was the truth. I really _did_ want to find someone special to call mine. I am admittedly that sort of person, who longs and needs for contact with others. Hassan says that's a good quality to have, since it means I value life even more than other people do.

I huffed again.

By that time, we'd reached the well. Setting the skin down on the edge of the well, my mother turned to me. "Do you want me to wash you first, or fill up the skin?"

"Douse me. I'll have more time to dry off." I grumbled.

"Alright, stand by to beat the shit out of the gears if they don't behave."

I nodded, picking up the communal gear-bludgeon-club. The well tends to stick a lot, so fetching water is a two-person job. One has to hold onto the crank, and the other has to beat the gears into moving again. Once the gears loosen with the percussive maintenance, the crank jerks, the bucket trying to plummet down. You have to have someone there to hold the crank for you.

So my mom began turning the crank, drawing up the bucket. I leaned against the wall of the well, watching the gears with an evil eye. I was a _big_ supporter of percussive maintenance when it came to the well-gears and I was sporting a bad mood. That wasn't to say I was cranky _right then_ , but I was a little irritated that my mom had seen through me so easily...

The first time she was drawing water up, the gears didn't stick. I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed up, curling my toes. A gasp was forced out of me all the same as the first bucket was dumped over my head.

"You're already looking cleaner— Doesn't that feel better than being caked with shit?"

"Maybe I _like_ being caked with shit! Hurry up and finish dousing me, _bitch!_ " I snapped.

I know that in other cultures, no kid would _ever_ get away with calling his mother that. But bad language is pretty much encouraged by Rotters, just like violence. Bottling it all up inside isn't healthy, and we know it, so we get everything out in the open to avoid problems. Bad language and rowdiness are totally normal.

And there's an old saying about asking and receiving.

I think I just fit it _perfectly_ as I was soaked again. Some of the sludge-laced water snuck into my mouth, and I spat it out fast.

"Still like being caked with shit?"

I glowered up at my mother as she tossed the bucket back into the well.

"One more bucket, and then we'll fill up the skin and go home. Do you feel like eating tonight? Did playing sludge-ball and treasure-diving wear you out enough for that?" she asked.

"Eh. I guess." I shrugged, not meeting her gaze. I wasn't able to stay angry at her when she was smiling like that...

"Well, I know you don't like it, but right now all we have is salted kelp and smoked fish. If you want something else, you'll have to go out and find it yourself."

"'S fine..."

"Malik."

I blinked in surprise as she turned my head to look at her.

"What's wrong? You normally act grumpy until we get home when I soak your ass."

"... Mom, how big of a hero was Dad?"

She didn't react, blinking.

"I mean, this world is filthy and rotten, and we're treated like trash. I don't like that. I wanna change it. But I'm just one smarmy-ass little brat who can't do jack-shit on his own... Dad coulda done _somethin'_ , couldn't he?"

"Oh, Mal..." Her eyes crinkled with laughter as she smiled. "You _are_ just a snot-nosed brat who can't do squat on his own. But _that's_ why you have _friends_. Do you think your father did _everything_ on his own? He often ran to Master Alban to cover his ass. We may only hear about the heroes, but no hero accomplishes anything on their _own_. Every single one of them is backed up by their friends. And you have Zaria, Hassan and Chaya. I'm sure that together you four will do magnificent things."

Now it was my turn again to blink in surprise.

"And have I ever told you about how you came about your name? Malik?"

"I know that it means 'great ruler,' just like Zaria's means 'rose' and Hassan's means 'handsome.'"

"Right. And I'm 'flower' while Master Alban is 'white one.' Your father was 'smiling one.' Kadar decided to name you Malik because he said that you would grow up to be someone's king. He said you didn't cry, and you looked too smart for a baby, and he was positive that you would become etched into history as one of the greatest rulers."

"... Mom..."

"Now, help me crank up your last bucket so we can get our water and go home, yeah, my little king?"


	5. Night 04: Enter the White Tiger

**{Night 04: Enter the White Tiger}**

I froze upon hearing a mewl.

Stopping, I stood up and looked around.

I was in the middle of catching crawfish for supper, kicking up the sand to scare them into my hands. I was in the shallows only, so I'd just rolled up my pants and left my sandals on as I searched. The mewl had surprised me into stopping, the bucket I held slipping a bit in my grip.

Looking around, I hummed.

Another mewl reached me, and I took one sloshing step in the direction of the noise.

"Oi, don't stop talking! Where _are_ you?!" I half-yelled when I wasn't given anything else to go off of. Another soft whimper altered my direction and had me splashing towards the shore.

"Ow! _Fuck!_ " I yelled as I stubbed my toe on something hidden in the water.

Almost directly below me, scrabbling and pathetic whimpers sounded.

I ran out of the water, set my bucket down and covered it so birds wouldn't be tempted by my catch, and dove back into the water. Eyes slid halfway-shut so the water didn't bug me, I quickly found what I'd kicked.

It was a box. About two feet by two feet by two feet. Half-buried in the sand, half-covered in junk. And from the cries coming from it, _there was something inside it!_

I began tearing away the junk covering the box, doing my best to free it. Debris flew up into the water, murkying it and decreasing visibility. I did my best to ignore that, scrabbling at the crate until it was loose enough I could drag it into the more shallow waters. Once the top was above the salty water, I began trying to pry it open. All I succeeded in doing was creating a stinging gash on my hand from dragging it across a nail sticking out of the box.

" _Oh_ , fuckit! Wait right there a minute!" I yelled at whatever was in the box. It made a squawking noise, accompanied by more scrabbling from inside.

I sloshed back to the shore. Casting about, I found a rock of suitable size. I grabbed it and ran back to the box surrounded by swirling muck. "Hold on! I'll get you out!" I yelled, raising the rock over my head. There was a shocked yelp from inside the crate as I bashed the rock against the corner. The wet wood splintered a bit, so I raised the rock up again, grunting with the effort.

After three or four blows, I'd created a hole in the box. I threw the rock aside, creating a loud, sucking splash. I was beginning to pant with the excitement, hardly noticing the chill starting to set into my skin as I reached to tear more of the box away. But as I reached my hand into the box, something sank claws into me.

"Ow! Fuck, you little shit!" I yelled at the thing angrily. Now both my hands were bleeding.

A little ticked off, I roared, earning a terrified scream and fearful scrabbling. I tore at the box, hurting my hands more and more.

... It was a cat...?

It hissed at me, trying it's hardest to puff it's sodden fur up.

"Oh, _shut it!_ I'm all bloody and shit because of _you_ , sonovabitch!"

But it wouldn't let me touch it.

Snarling, I kicked off my sandals, took off my pants, and threw them over it. I was aware that this left me ass-naked, but hell if I cared! Shocked, the cat squawked, and I was able to grab the thing. Huffing, I ran out of the water and began to head for home. I needed to get this sorry furball to Master Alban, or Zaria at the least. If it was hurt, they could help it.

A few people laughed or hooted at me as I ran into the village, but I ignored them, thumping barefoot through the dusty streets towards Alban's hut.

" _Quack!_ " I yelled, bursting into his house.

"I've already seen you naked _one too many_ times, _brat!_ " he snapped, making Zaria and Hassan giggle from next to the little fire-pit they were at. I noticed Chaya was also here, but ignored my friends for the time being.

I thrust the struggling, black-wrapped bundle at the old magician. "I dunno if it's hurt or sick, I found it in a box in the water! C'mon, help it!" I urged.

"Wha...?"

The cat finally poked it's head out of my pants, crying pitifully.

"A snow-sabre cub? What in the bloody blazes is one of _those_ doin' out _here?!_ " Master Alban demanded, snatching both my find and my pants away from me.

"A snow-sabre? Aren't they the really big mountain-cats?" Chaya asked curiously, her voice musical and lilting.

"Yes. Now Mal, go put some bloody pants on and lemme comfort this poor bastard!"

"You're holding my pants! And what's wrong? Am I not," I demanded, striking a sassy pose, " _Sexy_ enough for you?"

Zaria burst out laughing, rolling around on the floor, and Hassan and Chaya hurried to stifle their snorts as Master Alban threw a dirt-clod after me as I ran out.

I hadn't gone far before I remembered that I'd left the bucket of crawfish for supper at the beach along with my sandals.


	6. Night 05: Malik and Uriel

**{Night 05: Malik and Uriel}**

"So it's a boy?" I asked, gently pulling the pouch away. The tiger made an unhappy noise, reaching up to grab at it.

"'E's got _balls_ , dunn'e?" Zaria smirked, reaching out to play with his tail. I scowled, shifting so she couldn't reach him. Pouting, she smacked my side.

We were at my house. Master Alban had given me back my pants, and my mother was working on dinner. Dry and healed of any injuries or illnesses, the tiger-cub was calmed down and cradled in my arms. I was feeding it goat-milk from a burlap bag, having visited the next town to ask the goat's owner for food for my charge. We were sitting around the center of the hut, the curtain-door pulled back to let in the light. The fire in the back of the hut was lit, my mom making a stew of the crawfish and some dried herbs we'd collected almost a year ago.

"You should know that snow-sabres can get to be taller than me at shoulder-height. They're _big_ animals, Malik." Master Alban warned.

I looked down at the poofball in my arms. He was about the size of a full-grown cat, with soft white fur. His fur was thick and floofy. Just _barely_ there, _hardly visible_ on his fur, were gray stripes that Master Alban said turned black as these cats grew up. His paws were big and clumsy, his tail almost as big as him. His ears were gray, like his stripes, small and rounded. His nose and paw-pads were pinkish-gray, and his big, childish eyes were bright blue. I had a little trouble picturing this little thing as the huge, muscly cats with long, ivory fangs that stalked through snowy mountaintops. Snow-sabres were rare, I was told. The idea that one would be in the ocean, here in the hot Rotter-turf...

" _Perfect_." I mumbled.

" _Ehh?!_ " Master Alban and my friends demanded.

"And how is that?" my mother asked calmly, not turning her attention from the stew.

"If he's gonna get that big, I can ride him into victory when fighting!"

Zaria snorted.

"But... Mal, you'll _never_ be able to—" Hassan started.

" _Shuttit!_ " I ordered, hugging the cub to my chest as I pointed defiantly. "I _can_ do it! Don't doubt me! I'm gonna raise this cub into a full-grown sabre, healthy, strong and full of life! Don't treat me like I can't or say it's impossible! Impossible is a word used by Not-Rots so they don't feel like _trash!_ Just because it doesn't _look_ doable, don't give up the second you think it, or you'll _never_ see how _far_ you can go! This cub and I are going to break down impossible and bring forth the unthinkable, got it?!"

Right at the end of my speech, the cub bit me.

"... _Owowowow!_ You little _bastard!_ " I yelled furiously, holding the creature at arm's length.

As everyone laughed, the sabre-cub squirmed out of my hands and attacked the abandoned milk-pouch. I scowled, "Ya coulda _said_ somethin'..."

"Anyway, what'll you name him?" Mom asked with a smile, dishing out stew-portions.

I looked at the cub sucking fiercely on the burlap bag.

"... Uriel." I decided after a minute of thinking.

"Uriel?" Chaya asked.

"Yeah... I mean, these guys come from places covered in snow, right? And I may not have ever seen snow, but I'm told that it's actually hundreds of billions of tiny white crystals that fall from the sky... and crystals refract light and sparkle in it, don't they?" I muttered, picking the cub back up. I let him keep the pouch and began stroking his back. "If his fur is as white as the snow, which shines in the sunlight, it's only appropriate that his name mean 'shining one.'"

Mom smiled, nodding as she offered me my stew. I shook my head, too busy nursing my hungry new friend.

"Whatever, just keep your romanticized mushy feelings t' yerself, hear me, brat?" Master Alban snorted as he moved his bowl away from Zaria. She was already half-done with her portion and seeking more.

"That's fine, I don't need you to fix this country. Uriel an' me, we can do it on our own."

"Oya, oya! Don' fergit _us_ , ne? Er me, anyways, ah'll help ya out!" Zaria objected.

"Y-yeah... We're _friends_ , aren't we?" Hassan smiled. Chaya nodded, smiling sweetly.

I huffed, turning away from them to play with Uriel.

Because they'd _totally_ ruined my grouchy-independent attitude.


	7. Night 06: After A Year

**{Night 06: After A Year}**

"Uriel! You _bitch_ , bring that skin back here _right now!_ "

The snow-sabre just pranced further away.

It'd been a year since I'd found him. Zaria and I were fourteen now, and Chaya and Hassan were sixteen. We were estimating that Uriel was about a year and a half old, coming up to my hip by now. After an accident a few months ago, we'd had to cut my hair to ear-length, but I'd let it grow out so it was neck-length now. My dad's ring almost fit me at this point. We found that Hassan is far-sighted, so his dad left the Rotter-turf around the time we cut my hair to find him glasses. He actually looks really good with the rectangular lenses perched on his nose. In addition, Hassan and Chaya did it, so neither is a virgin any longer, and they've become an item. Zaria's wand— that big old stick— actually sprouted a few leaves thanks to her constantly channeling magoi through it and using it for life-magic.

Other than that, not much had changed.

I stopped running after my friend. When Mom had sent me to fill up the skin with water, Uriel had snatched it out of my hand and run off.

But I was _done_ with this game. We would play on _my_ terms now.

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest and spinning on my heel. A small dust-cloud rose up as I plopped myself down on the ground. I stayed like that, eyes closed in a grumpy scowl, and waited.

At length, I heard Uriel come back.

He rumbled, poking my back with a paw.

"Shut up. I'm mad at you." I snapped.

The tiger nuzzled my shoulders, and I scooted away.

Now Uriel circled around in front of me, mewing pitifully. The skin audibly fell from his mouth to the dirt.

" _Yaaah!_ " I roared, pouncing on him. Attempting to, anyway. He skittered away from me, squawking in surprise. But _I_ had the skin now, so I grabbed it and ran off, hooting with laughter. Uriel made a noise that was his attempt at a roar, and started chasing me now.

That was how it was.

The world beyond the Rotter-turf didn't affect us. Not the dungeon last year in Partevia, the rumors of a young sailor befriending the mysterious warrior-tribe up north, the wars waged by other countries... As long as we were allowed to live out our lives the way we wanted to, we didn't give _jack_ about _any_ of that.

... That's what everyone said.

But Uriel himself was a testament against that.

The people beyond our borders would continually thrust daggers of hurt into us because we were looked down upon. The trash they threw in here, the way our people were on occasion kidnapped by slavers or killed by bandits and pirates, even the fact that we had only a few scraggly trees. That was all the fault of the outside world.

I stopped, turning to look at Uriel. He skidded to a stop about a foot away from me.

"I hate this." I said softly.

He tilted his head, blue eyes wide, looking innocently up at me.

"I never even knew my father because of them... I've never actually _seen_ a _proper_ plant or a _clean_ body of water... And it's all because of _them_... I'll _never_ submit to _any_ of them... Those... those _Not-Rots!_ I'll show them just who we are!"

Uriel came closer, rearing up to put his paws on my shoulders, and licked my cheek. I hadn't even realized that I was crying. Sniffling a bit, I hugged my friend.

"... I think too much... life'd be easier if I was shallow an' stupid, not so fuckin' philosophical..." I mumbled into his neck-ruff. He rumbled, licking my ear. The action sent a shiver coursing down my spine. "Y-you friggin' _weirdo!_ What the hell?!" I yelled, recoiling away from him, brandishing the water-skin.

Uriel fell to all fours, sticking his rump in the air and stretching his forepaws out ahead of him. A shaking, shuddering noise was coming from him, his shoulders shaking, and I became concerned that he was sick or hurt. But then I saw his happily wagging tail, as if he were a dog.

It shouldn't have been _possible_ , but the snow-sabre before me was _laughing!_

It was contagious, spreading quickly to me. I picked one leg up as I clutched my stomach, doubling over with laughter. I don't know why, but I was. It was just _way too fucking funny_ for some reason!

Once we'd finished laughing and were gasping for breath, I stood up straight.

"Yo, Ur?"

He looked up, tail still wagging.

"Thanks, buddy." I smiled, lightly thwapping his shoulder with the back of my hand. He wasn't any different from Zaria, Hassan, or Chaya. He was my friend.

Uriel was an animal, not able to speak or understand the words I said, but there was an added spring to his step as we continued towards the well. He understood well enough, even if we couldn't converse. It was scary, in a way, but I felt that it made him a Rotter, just like us.

"Y'know, we could burn it all." I commented. Uriel made a noise I liked to define as interested. "The trash that no one wants. Just go outta village limits and start a bonfire. We could burn all this shit to the ground, and th' ashes would be good for the dirt once we mix 'em in. Then plants an' animals would start comin' back. Right?"

It had sounded better in my head, and actually was pretty half-baked, but Uriel rumbled happily. I smiled.

We were actually pretty close to the well when both of us froze, staring.


	8. Night 07: Boy In the Trash

**{Night 07: Boy In The Trash}**

Uriel and I froze, stopped dead in our tracks, about four meters away from the well.

The boy half-buried in the garbage next to it glared back defiantly with one eye.

He was a Not-Rot. Rotters didn't have black hair, not even with that chunk of white in his bangs. I briefly debated the possibility of him being a mutt, but dismissed the idea. His skin was too fine, almost like the dishes royalty ate off of in stories my mom told me. Zaria was the lightest-skinned Rotter, and this kid was white. His hair was ragged and looked self-cut with a dull knife, falling past his shoulders in matted clumps. It was a little hard to tell that it was black and white under all the filth covering him. His open eye was crimson, dark and dangerous while still looking bright and vivid. He was caked in dried blood, and his shut eye looked like it had once been a waterfall of the stuff. The only thing he was wearing was a rag wrapped around his waist. You could _see_ his ribs and the bags under his eyes. He looked younger than me, perhaps twelve.

All and all, he was rather pathetic-looking.

"What're _you_ looking at?" he snarled.

Uriel and I exchanged a look, then crept over to the well.

I didn't recall there being a lot of noise last night, or _any_ commotion at all... Where'd this brat _come_ from...?

I cranked up a bucket of water with Uriel's help. I looked thoughtfully at the water-skin.

... _Nah_.

I turned around, coming up behind the boy.

He shrieked as the cold water was poured over his head. "Y-you _bastard!_ " he spluttered, turning around to try and hit me. I easily stepped away, and threw the bucket back in the well. "Wh-wh-what the hell was that for, _fucker?!_ "

"Rots may not be the cleanest of people, but you're filthy even by _our_ standards." I declared, already cranking up the next bucket. When it came up, the boy did his best to retreat, but was apparently too weak to even get to his knees. I doused him again. "There now— Doesn't that feel better than being caked with shit?" I asked, recalling how my mother would ask me the same thing when washing me after sludge-ball.

"M-m-maybe I like b-being caked with sh-shit! Trample off, f-fucker!"

It was amusing how similar of responses we gave.

"One more bucket?" I asked Uriel. The boy hissed, trying to crawl away on his hands and knees, but slipped in the mud. "Oi, oi, don't undo all our hard work!" I scolded.

Not long afterwards, the boy was sufficiently doused and the skin filled. I gave it to Uriel and turned towards the boy. He spat at my feet, trying to scoot away, but he was too slow. I easily grabbed him and put him over my shoulders like I used to put Uriel when he was still small. He began to kick, flail and swear.

"Hey, watchit, if yer too feisty I'll drop ya!" I warned, setting off back into the village. Uriel followed after us, holding his head up high, skin-strap in his mouth.

"Then drop me! _Leggo! Hey!_ Listen to me!"

I pretty much ignored him, turning to Uriel. "Go home and give Mom the skin. Be careful with it, yeah? I'll be with the quack or Zaria." I instructed. Still holding his head up so the skin didn't drag on the ground, Uriel went off towards our hut. I gave the swearing boy on my shoulders a small jolt, making him squeal, and headed towards the quack's. Heads poked out of huts and curious gazes followed us. But no one stopped me. They knew where I was going just by looking at my 'find' and his condition.

When I got there, Master Alban raised an eyebrow at me.

" _Jeez_ , Mal, can'tcha be like _norm'l_ Rots an' bring 'ome clothin'?" Zaria asked, the only other one in the hut at the moment.

"Snow-sabres, boys, what's next? _Dragons?_ " Master Alban muttered as I dumped the boy on the ground before him. A small, pained cry left him. " _Careful_ , can't you see he's injured?!"

"Doesn't stop 'im from bein' feisty!" I snapped.

"And _you_ , shut up!"

The boy stopped whining with surprising obedience. I blinked in surprise.

Master Alban knelt before him and began to examine his wounds. With small gestures of his staff and muttered words, the boy's wounds were cleaned and started healing. Zaria sidled over to me, elbowing my ribs.

"Story?" she asked curiously.

"He was just sittin' in the shit nexta the well. Was caked in shit when I found 'im, but I doused him three times... Li'l asshole."

The boy yelped as Master Alban touched his thigh, jerking away. Zaria and I jumped at the noise.

" _Damn_ , you're torn up... What the hell _happened_ to you, brat?" the quack muttered, murmuring a command. I watched with wide eyes as a purplish glow touched the boy's wound.

"N-none of your business! Go die!"

"... Mal, are you sure that tiger of yours doesn't need a special treat for all those tricks you make him do?"

The boy gasped, eye wide and muscles tense with horror.

"Kids are too _fresh_ , not _flavorful_ enough. But 'e has an eye on you, quack." I answered with a cute smile. Master Alban flipped me off. Zaria burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as she hollered gleefully. "So? What's yer analysis, oh great-and-mighty-quackiness Alban?" I said with a bit of a leer.

"Other th'n thatcha need a spear shoved up yer shitter?"

" _Ooh_ , are you giving me yours?"

Zaria was practically _dying_ next to me, she was laughing so hard.

Alban scowled, muttering a command as he touched his staff to the boy. His wounds healed mostly up. What was left behind were ugly, grayish scars, warped and bumpy-looking.

"My analysis... is that _you brats need t' get the fuck outta my house now!_ "

I scooped up my find, and Zaria and I bolted, laughing and yelling obscenities. Master Alban yelled something about being careful with the kid's injuries, to which I'm _sure_ I responded with something perverted.

After a while, we stopped running, and the kid started beating on me again.

"'E's kinda cute, na? Ya gunna keep 'im?" Zaria snickered, poking the boy's cheek. He snapped his teeth at her.

"Hey, you play nice!" I scolded, jostling him. He squealed, holding stock-still. "An' ah _course_ I'm gunna keep him! I found him, dinn'ah?"

"H-Hey! I'm right here! And I'm not your fucking possession, bastard! Leggo!" the boy yelled, struggling again. Zaria and I whistled casually. "Don't ignore me, you bastards! Hey!"


	9. Night 08: His Name Is Kahil

**{Night 08: His Name Is Kahil}**

It'd been two days since I found the brat.

To be blunt, I'd _literally_ chained him to the wall of our house for the entirety of it.

I growled, arms crossed over my chest. I was sitting in front of him, a portion of food between us. Uriel had gone out for a walk with Zaria. My mother was just outside, braiding rope. The kid hadn't spoken a word to us since I'd brought him home, nor had he eaten. We'd since then bandaged his eye and dressed him in loose, ragged black clothes. Because Chaya had been worrying he'd hurt his feet walking around barefoot, I'd even donated my sandals, not that the little shit had done a whole lot of walking.

Growling, I stood up and went to the curtain. Snapping it aside, I stomped my foot with a growl.

"Yes, Mal?"

"Is force-feeding allowed in this house?!"

After a moment, she sighed, "He still isn't eating?"

"An' it's gettin' on my nerves!" I snarled, stomping my foot several times for emphasis.

She sighed, standing up. I found myself pushed outside and sat down to braid rope. As I clumsily worked the stuff in my hands— I was no good at this and she knew it— I laid down right outside the doorway so I could listen...

I got a faceful of dust, and vaguely saw my mom's sandal as I recoiled, coughing and spitting. My eyes streamed a bit as I scrubbed at them, not really succeeding in doing anything more than lodging the dirt deeper. It didn't get any better as I sneezed, instinctively swallowing afterwards and taking in a mouthful of sand.

By the time that I'd actually finished clearing my mouth and vision out, Mom had returned and reclaimed her rope.

"So? What'd you do?" I asked, standing up as she sat down.

"Have at him." she sighed.

 _A-ha!_

I stomped back inside and sat huffily in front of the kid. " _Listen_ , you!" I growled, grabbing his shirt-front. "We have trouble finding edible things in this dump, so _every mouthful_ is eaten happily! My mom and I are givin' up _a lot_ more than ya realize by setting aside sumthin' for you, _Not-Rot!_ If ya _really_ don't wanna eat, then I'll stop bein' so generous an' eat it for you!"

He said nothing, just glowered at me.

I shoved him back, his back colliding with the wall. As I snatched up the portion, taking a mouthful, a glimmer of disbelief coursed through his single red eye, and I heard his stomach audibly growl. His until-then tense body relaxed, probably in shock that I was actually following through with my threat.

 _Gotcha_.

Not-Rots were really kinda _stupid_.

I pinned his wrists to the wall with one hand and straddled his waist, forcing my mouth over his. His eye widened, and he started to struggle, opening his mouth to yell. That was just what I wanted, using my tongue to push the food into his mouth. That done, I pulled away and planted my hands over his mouth and nose.

"I won't let you breathe until you swallow it!" I yelled in my most menacing voice, looming over him as he thrashed, screaming against my hands. I could faintly hear someone outside asking what was going on, and the rustle of the curtain as someone, presumably my mom, looked in. " _Damn you_ , you little _bitch!_ Shut up and just _do as you're told!_ "

Finally, he swallowed.

"See? Was that so hard?" I huffed, taking my hands away and leaning back. He glared at me. "So, are gonna eat on your own now, or am I gonna hafta feed you like that from now on?"

As I got off of him, he reluctantly sat up and started eating. I smiled.

"Ey, look, he's puttin' food in 'is mouth!"

I flopped back on the floor. Zaria and Uriel were back. "Y-o. Have a good run?" I asked.

Zaria grinned as Uriel came to rest his head on my stomach. She held up what looked like a curtain of glass beads, black, purple, pink and blue. "Whaddya think?"

I blinked, then pushed Uriel off and rolled into a sitting-position. "... What is it?"

"I dunno, but Ur found it fer me!"

Blinking, I stood up and took it from her. She waited, smiling.

I wrapped it around her waist. "Hey, that's kinda pretty..."

"Okay!"

Zaria took the curtain back from me, stabbed her wand into the dirt, and dropped her shorts. Behind me, the boy squealed, and I could hear the slap of his hands meeting his face. I ignored him for the time being and turned Zaria around. She offered the ends of the curtain to me. I saw that they had lengths of black cord coming from them, probably from where more curtain had once been. I tied them together so it fit comfortably about her hips, and then turned it so the tie was at her side. That way it would part some when she walked... theoretically. It looked like she was still just a _tad_ too small and thin for that, the curtain falling down some. All the same, it was pretty, going well with her hair, eyes, and chest-bandages. It'd do that when she aged and fleshed out more.

"Aah! Look, it glitters in the light, just like your magic! All purply and ever'thin'!" I exclaimed as she spun around to show it off. Uriel made happy squawking noises, jumping back and forth with his tail up high.

After we settled down from their find, we looked back to the boy. He was just about done with the food, but not quite... and was no longer touching it.

" _Hey!_ " I growled, reaching to grab him.

"No, Mal!" Zaria exclaimed, grabbing me. "Quack s'ys th't if ya ha'ent eaten in a while, yer tummy shrinks, an' yah c'nt eat 's much! Ye'll make 'im sick!"

"... Oh..." I sat down, looking at the kid. "... If yer done, what's left should go to Uriel. He's got a _lot_ of growing left to do, he needs as much food as we can spare him."

The kid said nothing, sulking as I reached out to take the remaining food. Uriel started playing, jumping about eagerly. He liked eating a lot, and got very excited when he was fed.

"So, kid, ya got a name?" Zaria asked as I tossed Uriel tidbits of food. He jumped up and snapped his teeth in the air as I threw each piece, catching them without fail.

"'S none of your business..." my find mumbled, shuffling to the side and pulling his knees to his chest.

I stopped throwing food to Uriel, glaring at the brat. "It is _so_ our business, ye li'l _shit!_ " I snarled.

"Well, slaves don't _have_ names!" he burst out, eye tearing up.

Zaria and I were silent as he turned away from us, snuffling.

"Kahil."

"Huh? Whaddnow?" Zaria asked in confusion, adjusting her new skirt.

"Yer name. It's Kahil." I said stubbornly, all but glaring at the boy.

"H-huh...?" he sniffed. The bandages over his eye were coming undone, falling down about his neck and exposing his sagging eyelid.

I scooted closer to him. He hissed, trying to back away. I growled, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close. Fixing the linen, I asked Zaria, "You gunna keep those shorts?"

"Hm? These?" she asked, picking them up from the ground. Uriel looked up from where he'd been eating, batting at the fabric dangling from her fingers.

"Yeah, those. Now that ya have the skirt." I nodded.

"Nah. Why, y'wannem?"

"These bandages keep falling down, but we can use the fabric from those to make a patch for him, and that'll stay up better." I said, finishing with the bandages. Kahil pushed me away, growling.

"Sure thang! Works fer me!"

"Stop talking like I'm not here! And what did you call me?!"

I looked at the little skeleton next to me. "Kahil. That's your name now."

"'Precious friend,' hm?" My mom had come back in, her rope hanging in loops around her arm. "Is that what he is to you, Malik? A precious friend?"

"So what if he is?! What'll ya do 'bout it, bitch?!" I challenged.

"Nothing. Zaria, honey, while you're here, will you help me string this up with a little magic?"

"Sure! Whatcha doin'?"

"I found a crate of bottles the other day. I've emptied and cleaned them up, and now I want to hang them up for when we need them. They'll also make the house a bit prettier."

As Zaria used small puffs of wind-magic to blow the rope up the the ceiling, Kahil looked at me. "... precious... friend...?" he said in a soft voice.

"Because I said so. Stop tryin' t' run an' I'll unchain ya." I huffed, standing up to help with the bottles. I heard him squeal in surprise as Uriel decided to sit on his lap, officially making him part of the family.


	10. Night 09: Time of Weakness

**{Night 09: Time of Weakness}**

"Is it _really_ okay to let him off the chain?" Hassan asked doubtfully.

"If he makes a break for it, I'm sure that all of us are _twice_ as fast, plus you and Zar have magic." I huffed, nudging Kahil down into the depression. He growled, trying to smack me. All he did was fall off balance and slip with a loud yelp. " _Oi!_ Jeez, ya _klutz!_ " I scolded, skating down the rest of the way to help him up.

It'd been a few days since I named him. My mom had fashioned a black patch for him from Zaria's old shorts and some black cord. There were two cords, crisscrossing around his head to connect to the corners of the slightly-padded black rectangle. It kinda suited him, and exposed more of his face than those bandages. He still had the red collar around his neck, as well as a length of chain that hung in front of his stomach.

Chaya had come from her village to see Hassan and so we could play sludgeball. It was agreed to be a team of those two and Zaria against Uriel and I, so we were heading into the depression to play. I had decided to bring Kahil along, thinking that being outdoors would do him some good. He was being very grumpy about it.

"There. Not hurt?" I asked, holding Kahil's shoulders. He gave a ' _hmph_ ,' not looking at me. "Alright. You just _stay_ here, where I can _see_ you. Do what you like, but stay in the depression while we fight." I instructed as the others started on their fort. Kahil didn't say anything, but I trusted him to follow my instructions, so Uriel and I got to work on our fort.

"Alright, Ur!" I declared as we finished our fort. The others were already pelting us, mud exploding against our simple fort. "You dig! The loose sludge'll be easier for me to mold than just scooping it up!"

As I said this, I made a digging-motion with my hands. Uriel growled in affirmative, nodding his head and wagging his tail. Turning his back to our wall, he started digging into the ground with his paws. As he tossed aside pawfuls of sludge, I scooped up handfuls from the resulting pile and started compressing them into balls. These I set aside into a stockpile of ammo.

"Ready, boy?" I asked, peering through a hole in the wall. Uriel nodded. The others were ducking down to get more ammo. I grabbed an armload of sludgeballs and stood up. Once they came up to attack, I started throwing my ammo as fast as I could. I hit Hassan twice, grazed Zaria, and startled Chaya. Then I ducked back down, my arms empty. " _Alright!_ Great job!"

Then a gust of wind hit us from behind.

"Hey! Watch out! She's using magic!" Kahil yelled from the sidelines.

 _Huh?_

Uriel seized a piece of wood in his teeth to use as a shield as the first barrage of sludge came, over the wall and at us from behind thanks to Zaria's wind-magic.

"Hey, no fair! No magic, _bitch!_ " I yelled, grabbing another armload of sludgeballs. Ducking around to the side, I threw one of them. I hit Hassan square in the shoulder as he came up, knocking him off balance. He fell back into their fort, and I heard a lot of yelping and some arguing. The wind stopped, the sludgeballs suspended in the air raining down. "Good job, Kahil!" I yelled, flashing him a thumbs-up.

"D-don't get the wrong idea!" he yelled back, but I could see his cheeks pinking. He was pleased.

While I was distracted by Kahil, Chaya nailed me pretty good, making me gasp.

We continued to hurl sludge back and forth until a noise made us all stop.

A derisive laugh.

Uriel was the first to spot them. Four adults, all men, at the edge of the depression. They weren't Rots. Too clean and monochrome hair. Leers distorted their faces as they looked down at us.

A growl left me.

"Would you look at that! Like pigs playing in their own filth, huh? I guess we shouldn't be surprised to find a runaway slave hiding out with more trash, though!" one cackled.

Kahil suddenly dashed to my side, and Zaria, Hassan and Chaya ran closer to me as well. Uriel and I had set up our fort near the wall closest to the town, which was currently the furthest away from them.

Though I was shaking, I found myself slipping the knife out of my pants. I'd started carrying the black blade around with me when I went out, not knowing when I'd need it. Uriel's tail was puffed up, but he peeled his lips back into a growl anyway.

These guys were _bad_ news.

"How _adorable_ , they intend to fight!" one of them laughed, sliding down the depression-wall so he could come closer. "And you— Don't you know what _happens_ to escaped slaves?"

Kahil's breath hitched, and I felt him shying away.

Mustering up enough courage to speak, I snarled, "Why don't ya dumb Not-Rots scram, ha? Before you get hurt?"

"You're adorable, kiddo. It'll be _a lot_ of fun breaking you in as a slave."

One was approaching us. The other three were fanning out at the top of the depression. We were all but surrounded.

... I was _scared_.

They were a lot bigger and stronger than we were. Our way back home to the village, where we could get help from, was blocked. There wasn't anyone that I knew of out in this area today. We were _alone_. Five brats and a cat against these guys— against slavers.

... but...

As the guy in the depression came close, I scooped up one of my remaining sludgeballs. Pulling my arm back, I launched it as hard as I could at him. It nailed him nicely in the face, with a fair amount of force behind it. The muck exploded across his face, making him reel back a bit.

"You little shit!"

" **Har-Har!** " Zaria screamed, hurling a ball of flame at the guy skating down towards us. It caught on his pants, making him panic and flail.

"Hold on!" Hassan yelled suddenly.

We found ourselves flung into the air, landing none-too-gracefully on our faces, asses and stomaches outside the depression. I later learned that Hassan had used a clumsy, rushed wind-gravity combo-spell to get us out of there fast. It worked to some extent, I guess. Wobbling a bit, I got to my hands and knees, looking about. The two we'd attacked had to climb back out, but the other two were starting to run at us...!

"C'mon, c'mon, get up, let's go!" I screamed, urging everyone to their feet and shoving them in the direction of the village. We started to run, but Kahil was lagging behind...! They would catch us at this rate...!

" **Ramz Al-Salos!** "

Flashes of light accompanied by a crackling flashed through the air, over our heads, and crashed into the ground before our pursuers. They stopped, yelping in shock and slight pain, their legs singed.

"Master Alban!" we screamed, hurling ourselves behind the old man. Standing just off to his side was another one of our magicians, a woman called Mira.

"You little shits are alright?" the quack asked, briefly touching each of our heads. His eyes lingered on the knife in my hands for a moment. But then he turned to glare at the slavers. All four of them were here now. "Go home, brats. Mira and I will take care of this."

Everyone else nodded and ran. I lingered a moment longer, making Uriel cry in distress and confusion.

I wanted to help. I wanted to _do something_. But what _could_ I do besides get in the way?

 _... I was useless..._

Mira knelt down and touched my forehead. "Don't worry, Malik. You'll get your fight one day." she said reassuringly as the quack started firing off spells.

I blinked, just barely noticing that I was crying. My hand hurt from gripping the knife too tightly, and I was shaking. I gulped, turning to follow after my friends.

I wanted to fix this country?

Who was I kidding? I couldn't even protect myself, let alone my friends!

 **OOOOooooOOOOooooOOOO**

 **A/N: I know it's late, but happy holidays and whatnot.**

 ***utterly exhausted from putting up with all this holiday crap* My family is big and widespread and we have a lot of different holiday traditions...**

 **So enjoy this chapter, leave a review, yadda-yadda-yadda... I'm going back to bed now.**


	11. Night 10: Malik's Conviction

**{Night 10: Malik's Conviction}**

"Th-they'll be _okay_ , right...?" Hassan whispered.

"Of course. They're both strong, physically and magically." his father reassured.

I grit my teeth, digging my nails into my palms. After leaving the quack and Mira to fight the slavers, we'd run to the village. Hassan's father had gathered us all together, and now we were waiting at the well.

Kahil startled me, touching my shoulder. I almost whacked him good in the nose.

"What's wrong?" I asked, frowning.

"... Thank you."

"I didn't do _nuffin'_ , brat. I ran scared." I muttered darkly. Kahil was very quiet, looking dedicatedly at his feet as he stood over me. "Well, I _didn't!_ I _ran!_ I can't protect myself, I can only run like a rat in a trash-heap!"

Zaria and Chaya looked at me in concern, and Hassan shuffled his feet. His father said and did nothing. Uriel made upset noises and tried to nuzzle me, but I pushed him away.

"... You stood up for me."

I blinked, looking up at Kahil in confusion.

"No one ever pays any attention to slaves... because I tripped and fell, dropping the stuff I was carrying, I was beaten pretty badly, and I even lost my eye... and not a single person in the streets paid any mind. I took advantage of being left for dead and ran... but I knew... I _knew_ they would look for me... My only option was to keep running forever or _die_... B-but you...!"

He was crying, tears spilling from his eye as he quivered.

Slowly, slowly, I stood up.

"Rots stick t'gether, don't we? I mean, yer Kahil." I muttered, reaching out to pat his head.

He sniffled, hiding behind his hands.

Before anything else could happen, Zaria screamed happily. Recovering from the heart-attack it gave me, I turned to see Master Alban and Mira coming back. About halfway to us, Mira waved vaguely and turned in the direction of her village. Master Alban waved, muttering something as he came close.

"You brats did pretty well for runnin' away. Whicha ya burnt 'em?"

Zaria wiggled her stick somewhat proudly.

"And th' one was sludged?"

Kahil pointed to me.

"Hassan got us out of the depression faster than we could've climbed using a spell or something." I muttered.

"Impressive teamwork from you all. At the rate you're growing, you'll outdo Kadar as heroes." Hassan's father smiled.

"... Who's Kadar...?" Kahil asked quietly as we all started to head home. Because of the threat of slavers, Chaya was staying the night with Hassan and his family.

"... He was my dad. Died when I was just a baby, poisoned by bandits. My ring was his." I said bluntly.

Kahil said nothing.

"Yer slow! Ur, pick 'im up!" I ordered, tucking my hands behind my head.

" _What?!_ No, wai— _Ow!_ That hurts!"

"Then ya shouldn't walk so slow!"

Uriel bounced over next to me, Kahil clinging to his neck with his eye bulging out of his socket. "I can't help it! My legs are shorter and weaker than yours!" he whined.

"Then we'll hafta start joggin' ya around town at noon an' midnight!"

"What?! _No!_ I'll die!"

"Quit exaggeratin'!" I scolded, reaching out to whack him on the head. He seemed to know I was planning that, and fell to the side so I missed.

We were just coming inside our house when Kahil asked, "Hey, Mal? Did your dad ever do anything like you?"

My mom wasn't there, I noticed. Probably out looking for supper. I was on my own this time around.

"I don't understand."

"Anything like the cat and me." Kahil elaborated, climbing down from Uriel's back and moving over to his spot. This was where he was always chained up.

I was quiet, thinking. I looked at Uriel, then Kahil. Remembering that I still couldn't trust him not to run away, I moved over and reattached the chain to the wall.

As I did, I murmured, "No... I don't _think_ he did..."

"... Then haven't you already outdone him as a hero...?"

I wasn't able to answer.

That night, I couldn't get to sleep, thinking about what Kahil had said. I wound up going outside and running to the well. It was quiet and still outside, especially around the well.

Exhaling, I watched the steam of my breath heat the moonlit-air. It wasn't that it was cold out, it was that my sudden late-night run had tired me out and made my breath hot, escaping in steamy pants. The small, almost invisible clouds of heat disappeared rapidly in the silver moonlight.

 _Had_ I become a bigger hero than my dad?

I dug into my pocket for the ring. Taking it out, I slid it onto my right pointer-finger.

To my surprise, it all but fit.

I gasped a little, flexing my fingers and turning my hand about. The ring slipped around some, but stayed on pretty well for the most part.

I stared at the silver claw that now adorned my hand.

Kadar, my father, once wore this ring. It was like a part of him.

I looked up to the moon, blinking.

He had been like a _leader_ for the Rotters. Someone that Rots as anarchists were willing to follow loyally. He fought against bandits, slavers, and pirates countless times, turning them away and driving them back. Because of my father, the border of the Rotter-turf had been maintained and guarded, in a sense.

I wasn't doing anything like that.

... But... _he_ had only saved Rotters.

... _I_ had dragged a snow-sabre out of the ocean and was raising it... _I_ had pulled a Not-Rot boy from slavery and was kinda raising him too... It wasn't anything _major._ It wasn't like I'd single-handedly beaten up a shark to save Uriel. And I'd run away in fear from the slavers today. I was just a snot-nosed brat who happened to have done a few good deeds.

In the eyes of Uriel and Kahil, though, who had never met or heard of my father, _was_ I better?

I ground my teeth in frustration as my thoughts went in circles. It wasn't like I was living in his shadow— _Why_ was I so hung up on this?

Unable to draw a conclusion to that question either, I swung my legs over the edge of the well and sat on the weathered stones. I kicked my feet back and forth, periodically hitting the bucket-rope. This caused it to swing around. Below me, in the darkness, I could hear it hit the sides a few times. If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could faintly hear the water rushing past. I stopped kicking and tilted my head back. My heels rested against the inner stones of the well-wall, and I curled my fingers over the edge so I wouldn't fall, either forward or back. The well-water wasn't burbling or rushing, not flowing or passing idly by, but... it was _moving_. And I could hear that motion, relaxed and easy-going as it ran it's course.

 _That_ was how I wanted to live my life. But in this filthy world where we lived every day as someone else's stepping-stone, _that just wasn't possible._

My eyes slid open a crack, staring up at the dusty moon.

My dad, Kadar, had been a hero.

It wasn't that I _wanted_ to be a hero. I just wanted to change how people saw us. Everyone looked down on us and treated us the same as the garbage they threw into our country. I hated that and wanted them to see us as more. Because we _were._ Rotters were _just as good_ as any other human on this fucking mudball.

"... Hero or not, I'll make the damn Not-Rots see that... that they can't ignore us and treat us like we aren't good enough to lick the dirt from their shoes... We have our pride too, and _mine_ won't stand for this shit..." I muttered, pushing the questions I had bouncing around my head out.

I wasn't living in my father's shadow. I wouldn't stand for living in the shadow of everyone else, and I doubted _he_ would either.

 **OOOOooooOOOOooooOOOO**

 **A/N: I'm alive!**

 **School's a bitch. And since I'll be going to college directly after I graduate, I've got a buttload of crap to do, job-hunting included...**

 **Anyway, enjoy the chapter.**


	12. Night 11: Kahil and the Tree

**{Night 11: Kahil and the Tree}**

It'd been a few months since the slaver-incident.

My hair had grown back out to my shoulders, though I was wearing it in a messy pony a lot lately. My ears were now pierced, each one having a dull silver gauge in the lobe.

Uriel had hit a growth-spurt, coming almost up to my chest now. Chaya had found a dented copper bell that we'd tied onto his tail using a black ribbon. After his initial playing with it, Ur became _very_ proud of his bell.

And what I was happiest about?

I no longer needed to chain Kahil up so that he wouldn't run away. He still wore the red collar with the length of chain attached, but he said that he felt uncomfortable without it. I was glad that he trusted us now, and that we could trust him to walk about on his own and come back.

He was out right now...

I hummed, looking out the doorway. Standing up, I clicked my tongue to Uriel. Rumbling, he stood up and followed after me. The two of us had developed a sort of nonverbal language between us. Kahil was starting to pick up on these cues as well, though the other three were still lost on it.

As Uriel and I left the hut, I noticed that it was drizzling a tiny tiny bit.

"A sun-shower...?" I murmured, holding out a hand and looking up. This amount of rain wouldn't do much more than create little dewy droplets in our hair, and the sun still being out would dry it up fast.

Uriel rubbed his snout against my torso, reminding me of why we came out in the first place. I jerked my head. As I started walking, he padded along behind me. His tail-bell tinkled softly with each little movement of his tail.

As we walked, we were periodically stopped by someone. We would chat, discuss trivial matters, or boast about finds. At one house, someone from one of the other villages was visiting. Not many of them had actually seen Ur, though plenty seemed to have heard about him, so that guy was rather pleased to meet my feline brother. After perhaps ten minutes of chatting, we resumed our search for Kahil. The rain had stopped at some point in the middle of our conversation, the dampness in the dust already drying rapidly out.

We were over near the well when Uriel suddenly tugged on my waistband, pulling my pants down to my knees.

" _Ack!_ Uriel, you fuckin' _'tard_ — Eh?"

He was looking at the well. And when I looked, I could see Kahil sitting near where we'd first encountered him. The waterskin was slung over the well-wall, but it was obviously empty. Kahil was ignoring it, his back turned to us as he did something in the trash.

"... Oi, brat!"

Kahil started, gasping as he whipped around. Spotting us, he hastily started moving debris to cover whatever he was doing up.

Frowning, I pulled up my pants and took a running tackle. I barreled him over, and the two of us fell to the ground.

"What the fuck're ya bein' so _secretive_ about?" I demanded, pinning him down and turning my head to look at the hastily-made garbage-heap. I gestured to it, and Uriel padded over to nose the stuff aside.

" _Hey!_ No, he'll _kill_ it like that!"

Both Uriel and I froze as Kahil yelled. I was shocked enough that he was able to push me off.

Kahil hurried to shoo Uriel away from the little cover he'd created. Sighing in relief, he delicately started to remove the things covering whatever it was. Uriel and I both hung over his shoulders, hardly breathing, eyes wide.

"... What... _is_ it...?" I asked.

"... Can't you tell...?"

I blinked.

It was probably as tall as my thumb, small and slender. I could tell it was a plant of some type, but I had no idea what. The stem was skinny and white, and two somewhat waxy-looking leaves split off of the end. They were simple, flat and slender, and the whole thing looked as easy to pull out of the dirt as a worm. The very ends of the leaves were slightly crinkled and wilted-looking.

"... What...? I don't know..." I murmured.

"... It's a baby tree, just barely growing... and I'm pretty sure it's sick, with those leaves like that..." Kahil told me, just barely brushing his fingertip against the tiny plant. It seemed to shudder under his slight touch.

"... A... tree...?" I echoed softly, staring at the small thing nestled in the trash. This thing... this tiny, pathetic thing was a _tree?_ How? He said it was a baby, but...

"It probably needs a little water, and some more sunlight would do it good..." Kahil all but whispered, still stroking the leaves.

Something dawned on me.

"You two stay put, I'll be right back!" I ordered, spinning around to take off at a run.

I barged between people and wove through houses until I came to Master Alban's. From the conversation going on inside, Zaria and Hassan were there too.

I skidded into the hut, clipping the doorway and taking a bit off.

" _Careful_ , you little shit! Are ya _tryin'_ to bring this down on my head?!" the quack snarled, hurling a shower of sparks in my direction. I skittered backwards a bit to avoid them.

"Mal, what's up?" Hassan asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Kahil found a tree!" I yelled.

" _What?!_ " all three of them yelled back.

"Yeah! He said it's a baby, small an' kinda sick, but you guys— Yer life-magic— You could help it, couldn't ya?!" I all but begged.

"Wheresit at?" Zaria asked, already jumping up and grabbing her staff.

"By the well! C'mon, please?!"

The quack hesitated a bit, but Zaria and Hassan ran after me as I left.

When we arrived at the well, we found that Kahil and Uriel had cleared away most of the crap around the well, putting it in a big heap. This left the little baby tree free and exposed.

"What're you gonna do?" Kahil asked, voice wavering suspiciously.

"We're gunna help it grow!" Zaria declared, spreading her legs and planting her staff on the ground. A little more hesitantly, Hassan mirrored the action.

Together, they took a deep breath, eyes sliding closed. Kahil, Uriel and I watched apprehensively. Slowly, a faint purple glow appeared around the tops of their wands. Breathing deeply and regularly, the same glow began to envelope the tiny tree, and it started to grow taller, leaves spreading out.

I held my breath, watching with wide eyes as it grew to be about equal with my knee. More leaves were being pushed out, and small protrusions that developed into branches.

But then it began to stutter.

Zaria collapsed, and Hassan sagged against his staff. Both of them were breathing heavily, faces flushed, and the purple glow vanished. The tree wilted the tiniest bit.

"There now, ya see?"

We all spun around to see Master Alban.

"You didn't coordinate your spells, and focused randomly on different parts. It has to grow evenly throughout, otherwise it'll get sick. _Watch_."

The quack took a deep breath. Closing his eyes and gesturing with his staff, he uttered a quiet spell. The purple glow returned, more insistent this time, and the tree righted itself, shivering slightly. It only grew a little taller, fleshing out more and thrusting out more leaves. I watched in amazement.

"There."

"Thassit? Yer not gunna grow it no more?" Zaria huffed, looking disappointed.

"No. See, if we thrust this tree into adulthood right now, it'll get sick and die. It'll still be weak and not know how it's supposed to work properly. We've helped it to a point where it's chances of survival have increased— now the thing has to grow up on it's own for a while before we even think of helping out again."

"Like the story of the fish!" I exclaimed. He nodded.

"What story?" Kahil asked in confusion.

"Sumthin' Zahara told me once. Said there was a guy who raised a fish he found from an egg, and then tried to set it free. But cuz the fish was so dependent on bein' spoiled, it died real quick." I said, gesturing a bit with my hands. He blinked once or twice, then made a noise that indicated he understood. I'd really summed up the story and probably mutilated it a lot, but he got it.

"It's so _green!_ Kahil, are all trees like this?" Hassan admired, gently touching one of the leaves.

"Some of them. Others have different colors. Not by a lot, but enough to be different."

Uriel purred, rubbing his head against the brat. I nodded in agreement, turning to wrap him up in a big hug that lifted his feet off the ground.

"Thanks, squirt..." I whispered.


	13. Night 12: Blondie

**{Night 12: Blondie}**

I was sixteen now. Zaria was too. Hassan and Chaya were eighteen. Uriel was three, and Kahil was fourteen. Zaria had started to flesh out and get curvy, and outgrew her speech-impediment. Hassan and Chaya looked almost exactly like grown-ups by this point, and it was irritating how tall they were getting. Even Uriel was taller than me by this point. He was huge and well-muscled, and his giant fangs were starting to grow in. Kahil had started growing his hair out, and was still as pale as ever. I wore my dad's ring full-time now, and had gotten another piercing, above my eye.

The tree was almost full-grown now thanks to our magicians. Zaria and Hassan helped a lot, as did the quack. Mira and our other magicians had come over every once in a while to help as well. It was tall and good for climbing, with rough, rugged bark full of knots and grooves. The leaves were large and flat, and I was fairly certain it was starting to show signs of bearing fruit. It made the well one of the nicest places to be in all of Rotter-turf.

It was where Uriel, Kahil and I were right now. We were in the shade as the air surrounding us shimmered with heat. My mom had sent us out to get water, but we'd wound up watering the tree to keep it from getting sick in the heat and then lying in the mud.

I hummed as Uriel flicked his tail. The bell on it tinkled.

"Hey, Mal?" Kahil asked.

"Brat." I replied, not opening my eyes. I was debating taking my pants off and going naked for the day, or dragging these two to the beach.

"Who's your first going to be?"

 _Now_ I opened my eyes.

Kahil looked at me curiously.

"... I hadn't thought about it. Maybe Zaria? Or Chaya or Hassan. There's a girl called Tia in one of the other villages who's turning sixteen next week, maybe she'll be interested... I know that guy Raj is pretty well-known— Brat, are you _pouting?!_ "

He blinked, blushed, and rolled over. "O-of course not!"

Uriel rumbled with laughter, and I snorted.

I hadn't really thought of Kahil as that type. He'd always struck me as a blushing prude from the time Zaria brought her beaded curtain into our house.

"Tell ya what, Kahil. I'll sleep around lots and lots for the next two years, and then I'll keep you up for three days straight. Sound good?" I bargained with a smirk.

" _What?!_ Hell, _no!_ Go die!"

I burst out laughing, and Uriel chortled. Kahil began cussing us out, rolling over to throw damp dirt and mud at us.

A soft thump made us all freeze.

We all got to our feet and peered around the tree-trunk.

"... Well where the fuck did _this_ blighter come from?" I asked.

"Maybe the tree threw up." Kahil offered.

The still, face-down figure had long blonde hair and wore lots of green. Looking at them, Kahil's statement made sense. Whoever they were, they were certainly green enough to be tree-barf. It was a Not-Rot— Skin was too fine and hair was monochrome, eliminating all possible direct Rotter heritage.

"... So what do we do?" Kahil mumbled.

"Well, we can offer a rude awakening via well-water or we can drag it to Master Alban an' say it's a dragon."

Uriel snorted, and Kahil rolled his eyes.

" _Fine_ , let's fill up the water-skin and then we can take this weirdo home and make sure they're okay!" I said in exasperation at Kahil's stick-in-the-mud attitude. "Kahil, you start winching water. Ur, help him. I'll get them in the shade."

As they started attacking the stubborn well, I strolled over to the collapsed stranger. I really couldn't tell whether this was a guy or a girl...

Huffing, I reached down and grabbed their shoulders. Lifting them up, I dragged them over to the tree. As I did so, the part in their shirt fell open.

Male.

I put the guy down under the tree, out of the sun, and waited for Kahil and Uriel to finish getting the water. They did so with surprising speed— I guess the heat loosened the gears or something?— and we draped the stranger over Uriel's shoulders. Skin in hand, we set off for home.

We attracted a few stares, but not many, as we headed for our house. Everyone was used to me bringing home weird things by this point. As we pushed through the curtain that was our door, Zahara didn't even spare us a second glance.

We put the blondie in Kahil's spot, and draped a damp rag over his forehead. As Kahil and I were debating going for the quack, a low whine reached our ears.

The guy's stomach.

"Ya gotta be _kidding_..." I muttered.

"He passed out from hunger?" Kahil said in a similar tone.

As the guy's stomach grumbled again, Uriel nudged him with a paw, tail flicking and making his bell jingle. Blue-green eyes, more blue than mine, fluttered open with a breathy sigh.

"Oh, 'e woke up." I said in surprise.

"That's good." my mom hummed, sounding amused.

"Umm..." The stranger looked around briefly before his gaze settled on us. "... Where am I?"

"Rotter-turf. Our house." I said bluntly. "Who're you, blondie?"

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," he smiled, sitting up, "I'm Yunan, a traveller."


	14. Night 13: The Rotters and Yunan

**{Night 13: The Rotters and Yunan}**

" _Woah!_ "

We'd just fed Yunan and gotten done with introductions when Zaria had burst in. Upon seeing Yunan, she'd skidded to a stop, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

"Careful, you'll catch a bug." Zahara remarked in amusement.

"What kinda freakazoid is _this?_ His Rukh are _insane!_ " Zaria half-yelled, pointing to Yunan with her leafy staff.

"Oh, are you a magician too?" Yunan asked with a polite smile.

"Life-type magic. She helped t' grow our tree." I nodded.

"Really? Neat!" Yunan said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. Then he turned his attention to Kahil as Zaria began batting at the air around him. I guess she was playing with his Rukh. "Kahil, forgive me for asking, but you don't look like your family."

"Brat, if ya want the cat t' eat 'im, just say the word." I said, pointing. Yunan looked shocked.

Kahil shook his head, sitting up straight. With a surprising amount of _pride,_ he declared, "I used to be a slave from the neighboring country, but I was thrown out and Malik found me. I'm his find, so I belong to him now, just like Uriel."

"Oh, I see... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dig into painful memories." Yunan apologized, dipping his head.

"We're still waitin' on Mal to make good his promise to find a dragon an' bring it home, huh?" Zaria teased, grinning wildly.

"If he brings any more living things home that he intends to adopt, it'll be on him to build more house to accommodate us all." my mom warned.

"Do you bring things home often, Malik?"

"All us Rots do. We live in a trash-heap, so finders-keepers." I replied, flopping over backwards. Looking at Zaria, I was reminded of something. "Hey, Zar, have you had your first fuck yet?"

"Nope! I came over to ask if you wanted to!"

"Sure. Kahil wants me nice and experienced for his sixteenth birthday."

My adopted brother shrieked, tackling me. We tumbled out the door, wrestling and grappling. I vaguely heard Yunan and my mom talking, and Zaria was hooting as Uriel bounded after us. The snow-sabre batted at us occasionally as we fought, hissing and spitting insults.

What stopped us was Master Alban.

We knocked him over, which made us freeze and stare.

Slowly, slowly, he levered himself up with his staff.

We tripped over each other as we ran back home, Uriel leaving us in the dust. I could practically feel the quack's breath on my bare back as he screamed at us. Letting out a very not-masculine-at- _all_ squeal, I grabbed Kahil by the waist and put on an extra burst of speed.

Tearing into our house, I threw us behind Zahara, and Uriel buried his nose in the corner. Zaria was cackling like mad as Master Alban started chasing us around my mom.

"Wuaah, for such an unhappy place, you're all so happy!"

"Huh?"

We all paused at Yunan's statement.

"Aah!" he exclaimed, looking slightly worried. "I didn't mean to offend you! It's just that the country is so..."

"Trashy?" we all said at once. He ducked his head, pulling the brim of his hat down over his pinking cheeks.

"Well, we get by. It's not _great_ , but we're livin'. Don't get Mal started on the state of our turf, though." Zaria admitted with a shrug.

"I'm sorry."

"'Spose it ain't _yer_ fault. Yer just one guy, ya ain't the _whole world_ shunnin' us." I grumbled, hunching my shoulders as I left the hut.

Left with nowhere else to really go, I turned and ran for the ocean. Now that I was older, my legs longer and stronger, I could reach it in half as much time as it once took.

Once there, I took off my pants and started swimming. I wasn't diving this time, just seeing how far out I could go.

Once I reached water that was almost recognizable as blue, I stopped and turned to see how far I'd gotten. That was actually pretty far.

As I treaded the water, debating whether or not to swim back, someone said, "You remind me of someone I know."

I instinctively splashed water in the direction of the voice— To my right and up a bit, just barely getting Yunan's boots wet. He chuckled a bit, perched daintily on his stick-thing as he floated, watching me.

"Is that good or bad, cuz I _will_ fight you if I hafta." I warned, moving my arms lazily.

"I suppose it's good. He was from Partevia, a boy of about your age—"

"You wouldn't be referring to the dungeon-conquerer, wouldja?" I cut him off.

" _Yes,_ as a matter of fact! Sinbad! He was very discontent with the state of his own country, and sought to gain the power to change it. He was run out of Partevia by the royal family, though... Sinbad's been making quite a name for himself lately." Yunan smiled, looking very pleased with himself for some reason. Then his face became very serious. "Malik, what would _you_ do with the power of a king?"

"... Eh?"

 **OOOOooooOOOOooooOOOO**

 **A/N: Whoo!**

 **So I just put Malik, Kahil, Zaria, Hassan, Chaya, Master Alban and Zahara through a Mary Sue litmus test-thing. The most Mary Sue of them all is Zahara, Malik's mother, but since she and Master Alban go down in importance from here, almost to background-characters, I'm not too worried about it.**

 **There's going to be a huge time-skip soon— I tried writing out several chapters for one section, but it took too long and honestly got nothing accomplished, so I just sent us through a time-skip instead, that puts us perhaps midway through the Magi series?**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review!**


	15. Night 14: The Dungeon Appears

**{Night 14: The Dungeon Appears}**

It was the ground shaking that woke us all up.

Everyone rushed outside in confusion. I'm positive that _all_ our eyes were drawn to the strange structure that was now dominating the sky.

It was tall. _Huge_. All four of our villages must've been able to see it. It had what looked like five sides, all coming up to the top in layers, with towers at each of the bottom-most corners. White in color, it had red and purple decoration with gold accents. It looked like there were patterns along the walls, but I couldn't tell from the distance...

"Mal," Kahil whispered, "Where's Yunan?"

Blinking, I noticed he was right. The blonde Not-Rot was nowhere to be seen.

Clicking my tongue, I gestured to Uriel. He gave his big head a shake; He couldn't find Yunan.

On impulse, I started running towards that huge thing.

"Mal! Mal, hey Mal!"

I didn't stop running, forcing Hassan and Chaya to pull alongside me as they ran. Kahil and Uriel were behind us, and Zaria joined us soon after.

"Malik, where the _hell_ are you _going?!_ " Hassan yelled.

"Yunan said," I started as we wound through everyone in the streets, "That I reminded him of the shit who conquered the dungeon in Partevia, and then asked me a weird question! _Now_ , he vanishes, and this thing shows up? A bit _too_ perfect, wouldntcha say?"

Really, I'd only _just_ connected the dots myself. But it made sense.

It didn't take too long for us to reach the base of the thing. As I'd thought, Yunan was there, standing next to a stairway leading up to a glowing doorway.

"You! You did this, didn't you?!" I yelled, skidding to a stop perhaps fifteen feet away from him. He just smiled. "Why?! For what purpose?!"

"Oh, don't get so upset, Malik. It's my gift to you, for letting me stay with you all day and taking care of me. I think someone like you deserves the power to be king. You're good to your friends, family and neighbors, and you have a pure goal in mind. Your Rukh are strong and determined. I'm sure Flauros will serve you well in your quest to change the Rotter-turf and prove to the world just how _amazing_ the Rotters really are."

"... I don't have much of a _choice_ now but to go in, though..." I muttered.

"Hm?" Yunan looked confused, tilting his head to the side. I was surprised he heard me, frankly.

"We have nothing here! Everything was taken from us, all we have left is this land! When other people get wind of this, the Rotters will be forced out so they can set up shop!" Chaya called, clinging to Hassan as he gripped his metal staff with white knuckles.

"So we've got no choice! But what guarantee do we have that we'll make it out alive?!" Kahil agreed.

The Not-Rot smiled again, tilting his head the other way as he called calmly back, "I guess you'll just have to trust me!"

We five exchanged glances as Uriel's tail-bell jangled.


	16. Night 15: Twelve Years Later

**{Night 15: Twelve Years Later}**

I could still remember my mom's face when we came back out of the dungeon a week later.

Rather, I remember how my face _stung_ from being slapped for going in without any warning whatsoever.

I'd wound up socking Yunan and telling him not to just go making dungeons without warning people and running in. Zaria had followed directly after me, and about an hour into the dungeon we found Kahil leading the others to us.

It'd been a maze of monsters and riddles, only half of which we could actually read. The rest was in some sort of weird code made up of dots and triangles. We were lucky Zaria was so good with healing spells, considering the fact that I had bones sticking out of my skin at one point, and we had to pull spears out of Hassan and Uriel after Chaya accidentally set one booby-trap off. Kahil twisted his ankle pretty bad and Zaria got burnt. We all wound up exhausted, trekking through the dungeon for what felt like weeks, months, even. I found myself giving Kahil the knife I'd dragged out of the sea before finding Uriel and using a sharp rock for myself.

There had been a time when we'd all gotten sick from experimentally eating one of the monsters we'd killed. The problem with rushing in was that we had no food or supplies, and with the time we were in there... We got pretty adventurous with our eating-options. Chowing down on a creature made of gelatin and white fuzz _probably_ wasn't the _smartest_ idea.

But _eventually_ , we finally made it to a room with a jug on a pedestal in the middle. Touching the jug sent a shockwave through the room, filling it with all sorts of treasures. From the silver jug had burst a huge blue leopard-thing that introduced himself as Flauros, the djinn of martyrs and persistence. He'd been _highly_ amused with us, and applauded a bunch of kids making it through his dungeon, ragged as we'd become.

He lived in my dad's ring now, a little eight-pointed star emblazoned on my knuckle.

We'd all grown up since then, and our turf changed _drastically_ with the help of the magic and the gold from the dungeon. In twelve years, we'd gone from a desert trash-heap to a jungle. Animals and birds had come back to our peninsula. We'd rebuilt _everything_ — All the Rotters now lived in a rather nicely-sized little city near one of our shores, with a smaller, plainer recreation of the dungeon as the crown jewel. Our first tree towered above all others in the center of the forest, and the well still exists between it's roots. The ocean's been cleaned up, and everything looks nice. Some other countries are even starting to trade with us for our fruits and handmade curios.

I'm twenty-eight now. I still only wear my black pants. They actually fit now, though I still have the rope belt, and there are huge holes in the knees. My ears still have the silver gauges, and there are two little hoops on my eyebrow. There's a large, swirling black tattoo on my left shoulder of the sun. My hair falls slightly past my shoulders. I'm of average height and build, but I have a decent muscle-tone on me. I never take Flauros off. I'm called the Rotters' king— Though it's really nothing official.

Uriel is _huge_. He's a foot taller than me at shoulder-height. His claws are so long the tips stick out past his toes now, and his huge fangs grew in impressively. He still wears the black ribbon with the dented copper bell. And he's as smart as ever.

Kahil is the same height as me, still pale and thin at twenty-six. His black-and-white hair falls about a third of the way down his back. He still wears too-big black clothes that're practically rags and that old collar with a length of chain. The sandals I gave him were outgrown a while back, but he seems to have liked the style of wood and rope, because he got new ones just like them. Around his waist he now keeps a red leather belt, into which he tucks the knife I gave him. If I'm the king, I suppose he's the king consort? Kinda? We fuck fairly often, and he always gets very pouty when I sleep with someone else.

Zaria is twenty-eight as well. She became much more feminine-looking over the years. Not as busty as Chaya or my mom, but even if she was, she still binds herself with white bandages, and wears her glass-bead curtain-skirt. Like my original intention, it parts attractively along the side when she walks. She wears a mess of silver bangles on her wrists, and still has that old leafy stick for her wand. Her hair falls to her waist, and she keeps some of it up in a side-pony using a black ribbon. I swear, she rarely walks _anywhere_ any more now that her magic has gotten stronger, instead choosing to float.

Chaya and Hassan, thirty, have gotten married. Chaya now looks a lot like my mom. Her hair is usually braided and in that high, tight pony at the same time. She became really busty and beautiful, and still wears that brass collar and those blue slippers with that green scarf around her waist, though the tube-top was replaced with a halter-top of light blue, and the harem-pants replaced with a pair more her size, low-riding and cream-yellow with light blue stitching on the seams. Hassan is the tallest of us, with a lithe figure. He still wears clothes of the same style as when we were kids. His cheekbones are more pronounced, his eyes more almond-shaped behind his glasses, giving him a very intelligent look, I think. His sleek bob has changed into a spiky bed head, and he has small gold hoops in his ears now. We replaced the metal rod of his with a staff from the dungeon, a tall bronze staff with an ornate sun at the top, with jingly little beads and glittering engravings in the darker metal circle surrounding the golden sun.

Uriel, Kahil, my mom and I lived in a house just outside the huge ziggurat-thing that Not-Rots called our palace. I suppose it _kinda_ was, but it was really just a homage to the dungeon that helped us change everything. Anyone was free to live in it, sleep in it, use it as they wanted. We did too, occasionally. The quack was a full-time resident. Hassan and Chaya live closer to the shore, though. They're expecting a baby in seven months. Chaya's tummy is only just barely showing the signs of motherhood at about two months, but it's still exciting. Zaria lives closer to the treeline, and goes into the jungle often. She's become one of our almost-official healers, so when she's not in the trees she's just wandering the streets and making sure injuries are taken care of.

Life's become a _lot_ better for us Rots.

My lungs burning, I shot back up to the surface, bursting through the water.

Gasping, I gulped down air, treading the water.

"You okay?" Kahil called from the shore, looking up from his book. He was lying under Uriel, who was asleep in the sand. Because the cat had gotten so big, he flattened anyone he laid his head on. Unfortunately for us, that was mostly Kahil and I.

"Yup! Good! Just peachy!" I yelled back, flashing him a thumbs-up. Deciding I'd swum enough for the day, I splashed back to the shore and flopped over on the sand. "Book good?"

"Mm-hmm."

I nodded, closing my eyes and basking in the sun.

I think my father would've been _proud_ to see how far we'd come.


	17. Night 16: Letters

**{Night 16: Letters}**

I gently shushed Kahil as he panted, removing his eye-patch. He whined a little, burying his flushed face in the pillow. I began to hum, rubbing circles onto his back with one hand while the other kneaded his hips.

Once I was positive he was asleep, I left Uriel to watch over him.

When my mom taught me about sex, she warned me to be careful about going long, hard and rough. It was like throwing a glass up in the air. If you didn't want it to break, you had to catch it when it came down. Your partner could get sick from crashing after the high of sex like that, so you had to take care of them afterwards, cuddle and soothe them. This took them down gently from the pleasure, like catching the glass.

I groaned, stretching my arms over my head as I curled backwards. A satisfying pop made me sigh.

"Ooh, who'd you entertain this time? Kahil will be so _jealous_ , he might not talk to you!"

I looked up as I left the house. Zaria hovered there with a wild grin.

"For your information, I just put Kahil to sleep." I replied snootily.

"Ah, I see. Hey, why does your back always make that noise after sex?" she asked, landing gracefully on the ground next to me as I started walking.

"Who knows? Maybe it's how I hold myself, and I get stiff? I think I'm too young for back-problems..." I murmured.

"Hmm, probably!"

"Aren't you the healer? Shouldn't you _know?_ " I huffed as we walked down towards the port.

"I've only seen you in action once, Mal! Can't say for sure!" she laughed, shaking her head.

Making a point of ignoring her, I ambled into the market-place. I was heading for one place in particular, my mom's little stall. She sold spice-scented candles with glittering colorful glass embedded into them to foreigners. They really were pretty, and I tended to burn a few at night since the scent made me drowsy.

Before Zaria and I could reach the place, though, a younger Rot approached me.

"Hey, Mal!"

"S'up, ankle-biter?" I greeted, kneeling down so that he and I were eye-to-eye.

A pair of envelopes was thrust into my face. Blinking, I took them.

"A guy on a ship told me t' give ya those! Said they're real 'portant!" the kid informed me.

"Haaaah... What's this...?" I muttered, looking at the fancy seals on the letters. Sighing, I ruffled his hair. "Thanks, squirt. I hope the sucker paid ya?"

Snickering as he nodded, the kid ran off.

"Ehh, those look high-class..." Zaria commented as I examined the letters again.

"But who th' fuck's sending a Rot such fancy paper?" I huffed, starting to walk again.

Once we'd gotten to Zahara's stall and situated ourselves in the back, I opened them up. All three of us stared.

One was from the High King of the Seven Seas, Sinbad.

The other was from the Second Imperial Kou Prince, Koumei Ren.

Sindria and the Kou Empire wanted to meet me and talk business.


	18. Night 17: Malik's Grudge

**{Night 17: Malik's Grudge}**

"No, no, no, no, no, no, and just in case I missed it, _no!_ " I yelled aggressively.

"Malik, at _least_ forming trade-agreements with them would be highly beneficial to us! Do you forget that both of them have access to goods from _all over the world?_ " Hassan pointed out, gesturing with his staff.

"I don't care!" I yelled, running around the corner.

We were on one of the layers of the ziggurat, standing outside as we discussed what to do about these letters. 'We' being my 'court'— Zaria, Hassan, Chaya, Uriel, Kahil, Zahara, and Master Alban.

I was totally against seeing _anyone_ from these countries about their negotiations.

I bet they just wanted to subjugate us. That was the _only_ reason such high-and-mighty empires would come down to chat with rinky-dink folk like us Rotters! Ships and people coming around for trade was fine, but whole fucking _delegations?!_ I don't think so!

As I bolted for the next corner, Hassan zipped in front of me.

I made a slashing gesture with Flauros—

Chaya flattened me with a flying tackle.

"I refuse I refuse _I refuse!_ " I roared, trying to shake her off.

"Y'know, Mal's kinda gotta point." Zaria said as everyone gathered around. "Not-Rots never take us seriously, an' all they do is take from us. Why should we let 'em waltz in and boss us around?"

"See?! See?! Zar gets me!"

"But at the same time, I believe those two are currently at _war_. We're kinda in between them." Kahil pointed out, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I suppose it's easy enough to claim neutrality, but it wouldn't last long."

"Besides! Sindria just got Reim and Magnoshutatt on their side! That's a super-power and something Kou had been after for a while now!" the old quack declared, tapping his staff against the stone of the ziggurat.

Finally shaking Chaya off my back, I stood up. "And wasn't Magnoshutatt a little place like us?! Until people started sending delegates?! Huh?!" I snarled, throwing my arms out wide.

"Malik, you're acting like a brat." Zahara sighed.

"I _am_ a brat!" I snapped back, flipping her off.

Sighing, she turned to Zaria. "Sweetie, would you stand next to him?"

Neither of us really knew what she was doing until she'd ordered Uriel to sit on us. Taking Zaria's staff away, Zahara declared, "Now we should go write those dear young men back."

"You _bitch!_ Just _wait_ till I get outta here, I'll tear yer throat out!" I howled, Zaria shrieking all sorts of incoherent abuse next to me as the others walked off. "Uriel, you _traitor_ , I'll skin you alive! Geddoffa us, you fucker!"


End file.
